Switch
by Danja
Summary: What's the connection between a dark secret from Dinah's past and the newest drug to hit the streets of New Gotham?
1. Recognition

Author: Danja

Disclaimer: Birds of Prey, its characters, and concepts are the property of Warner Brothers, Tollin-Robbins Productions & DC Comics.

****

Switch

Chapter One

* * *

Barbara, Dinah, and Helena were watching the evening news on the overhead plasma screen.

"In our Assignment: Community segment tonight, New Gotham is pleased to announce the opening of a new children's home," intoned the announcer onscreen. A scene of a ribbon-cutting ceremony then replaced the image of the announcer.

"The Greenlefe House will serve as a refuge for abused and neglected children," the announcer's voice-over continued. The square-jawed face of a man in his early-to-mid fifties filled the screen. He had blue eyes and bright red hair for a man his age. A caption at the bottom of the screen read, "Roy Tucker, Director, Greenlefe House".

"I am pleased and honored to be involved in the development of Greenlefe House," said Roy Tucker with a gulping Southern drawl.

At this point, Dinah felt her heart stop. All of the color suddenly drained out of her face. _No, _she thought. _Tell me it's not _HIM. She stared at the screen with her jaw agape.

"Dinah, are you all right?" Barbara inquired as she noticed Dinah's deer-frozen-in-the-headlights expression.

"No … NO!" moaned Dinah, shaking her head. Barbara and Helena watched as she spun on one heel and ran towards the rear emergency stairwell entrance located near the elevator. She opened the steel fire door that led to the stairwell, ran inside, and slammed the door shut.

"What's _HER_ problem?" ejaculated Helena after Dinah had left.

"I don't know," Barbara replied. "But something tells me … something's up."


	2. Secrets

Author's Note: WARNING! CONTAINS MATURE SUBJECT MATTER!

****

Chapter Two

* * *

Dinah sat on the side of the bed in her quarters, holding her head in her hands. _He's had plastic surgery, _she thought. _He's dyed his hair … but I'd know that voice … those eyes … anywhere._

A knocking on the door snapped Dinah out of her reverie. "Who's there?" she asked.

"Barbara," came the reply from outside. "May I come in?"

"Door's open," said Dinah. With that, Barbara opened the door, wheeled herself in, and took a position facing Dinah alongside her bed.

"You're probably wondering why I ran," said Dinah as she clasped her hands behind her neck.

"I would be lying if I said the thought didn't cross my mind," Barbara replied.

"I think I know him…"

"Know who?"

"Mr. Tucker … the man on the TV … or at least I _THINK _I know him … I don't know his name … not his _REAL _name, at least."

"You knew him under another name?" Barbara inquired. "Who did _YOU_ know him as?"

"The Reverend Larry Pitts, pastor of First United Methodist Church, Blackwater Creek, Missouri," replied Dinah. "He was my foster father … one of em, anyway."

"So … he's a former Methodist minister…"

Dinah nodded. "He … beat me," she said, tears now forming in her eyes. "He thought I was … demon-possessed. He tried to beat it out of me every chance he got."

"What did he use?"

"Fists, belts, rebar … whatever he could get his hands on."

_"REBAR?!", _exclaimed Barbara, now outraged. _"STEEL _rebar?!"

Dinah nodded solemnly. "He broke my shin one time. He told the doctor that I'd 'fallen out of the tree in the backyard'," she said, framing Rev. Pitts's shopworn excuse with her index and middle fingers in the air.

Silently and unnoticed, Helena entered the room. She took up a position just inside the doorway, leaned one shoulder against the wall, and listened in on the conversation.

"I was forbidden to enter the basement," Dinah continued. "He told me it was 'holy ground'."

"Did you do it anyway?"

Dinah nodded. "I was twelve … I had no concept of 'holy ground'."

"What did you see?"

"A big black gym bag sitting on the floor. Oh, and guns. Lotsa guns. Some in holsters … some just lyin' out. Just strewn about everywhere."

"What kind of guns?"

"Mostly revolvers. .45. Couple o' nine-millimeters."

"Did you open the bag?"

Dinah nodded and smiled knowingly. _She knows me too well, _she thought. "Must've been about several thousand dollars in there."

Helena let out a low whistle from the back, prompting Barbara to glance around and take note of her presence in the room. She then turned her attention back to Dinah. "Please continue," she said.

"I closed the bag and got outta there," said Dinah. "I dunno how the Reverend found out … but he did. Got the beating of my life for it." She then paused. "Bad as he was, his brother was even worse."

"What did _HE_ do?" inquired Barbara.

Dinah glanced away and then cast her eyes downward at the floor. "I don't know if I can talk about it," said Dinah, her voice now choked with fear. "He threatened to kill me if I told anyone."

"Dinah, you're not in Missouri anymore," said Barbara. "He can't hurt you here."

"I dunno if I should talk about it…"

"If he's hurt you, I want to know about it."

"There were three of em: Larry, his brother Darryl, and his other brother … Earl," said Dinah. "One time, Darryl, Earl, and a couple o' their friends came into my room at night." She choked back a sob. "I can't do this. I can't go on."

Barbara gently stroked Dinah's shoulder. "Get it out of your system, Dinah," she murmured. "You'll feel much better for having done so."

"Darryl, Earl, and two of their friends…"

"Which one threatened to kill you if you told?"

"Darryl … Anyway … Darryl, Earl, and two of their friends -- I don't know their names, I never saw them that often -- one night, they came into my room…"

"Where was this? The Reverend's house?"

"Yeah … they came into my room at the Reverend's house, turned on the light, and woke me out of a sound sleep. Next thing I knew, Darryl had a gun pointed at my head."

Helena's jaw dropped in horror as Dinah recounted her tale. "Please continue," said Barbara.

Dinah took a deep breath and then exhaled. "Their friends … held my arms down. Darryl had a gun pointed at my head … told me he'd kill me if I screamed or kicked. Earl…" At this point, Dinah pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Please continue."

"Earl … pulled down my pants. Underwear too," said Dinah, biting her words. "Then … something cold … hard … entered me. Wanted to scream … so painful … but Darryl still had the gun pointed at my head. Then … it was over … for Earl, at least."

"Who did this to you?"

"All of em."

"All four of them?"

"They took turns."

"What happened after that?"

"Earl and his two friends left. It was then that Darryl pointed the gun at me and threatened to kill me if I told anyone."

"Did you tell the police?"

"I was in a small town in the backwoods of Missouri -- the Buckle of the Bible Belt. Think they would've believed me … 'Demon Girl'? It was my word against the brother of a Methodist minister's."

"I can understand your apprehension."

"Besides, it was one of those places where everyone knew everyone else -- the pastor knew the Mayor, the Mayor was drinking buddies with the Sheriff, that sorta thing."

"What kind of gun did Darryl use?"

"What?" said Dinah, confused.

"What kind of gun did Darryl pull on you?"

"Dunno … looked like a .45."

"What color was it?"

"Does it matter?!" exclaimed Dinah in exasperation. "They're back in Missouri. There's nothing I can do about it now."

Barbara leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms across her chest. "Are they?" she said, cocking a quizzical eyebrow at Dinah.

Dinah looked warily at Barbara. "What do you mean?"

Barbara resettled her arms on the armrests of her wheelchair. "If the Reverend Larry Pitts and Roy Tucker are indeed one and the same … and he has his two brothers under his protection … they may well have followed him to New Gotham."

All of the breath suddenly escaped from Dinah's lungs. Her face became a mask of fear, shock, and horror. "No…" she moaned hoarsely. "God, no."

Barbara edged her wheelchair forward and took Dinah's hands in her own. "Dinah, help me … help _US_," she pleaded. "Help us put em away."

Dinah glanced at Barbara and then cast her eyes downward onto the floor. She then looked up at Barbara once more. "All right…" she said. "For all the good that it will do."


	3. The Interview

****

Chapter Three

* * *

_Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon_

_February 9th_

_This case has raised some interesting questions: What's a country preacher doing with a gym bag containing several thousand dollars in cash? And why all the guns? What need would a Methodist minister have for all of them? Even by gun-crazy Missouri standards, their manner of storage seemed … careless. Why would he change his name? Does he have something to hide? Is he running from something … or _SOMEONE?

_As for the matter of Dinah's … molestation (rape?), words cannot adequately describe what I am feeling right now. The investigator ... the crimefighter … within me says, "Leave them to the tender mercies of the criminal justice system". The human being -- dare I say, the mother? -- within me, on the other hand, says, "Kill On Sight"._

_"Molestation" … such a clinical word to describe an ugly, brutal crime -- against a child, no less! This case has reawakened feelings -- passions -- within me that I thought had died the night Joker shot me. I am seriously beginning to doubt my ability to maintain my professional objectivity in this matter; I fear that it may be compromised at some point in the future._

_No matter what happens, the Pitts brothers will rue the day they dared cross paths with The Oracle. _THAT_ is a solemn vow._

* * *

The next day, Barbara was in her office in the Clocktower continuing her interview with Dinah. She was scratching notes on a yellow legal pad.

"Dinah, I know this is painful," said Barbara. "But if we're going to catch these guys, we need as much detail as possible."

Dinah nodded. "I know," she replied. "At the same time, I've spent the last four years trying to put this behind me."

_I know the feeling, _Barbara thought mournfully. _I've spent the last _SEVEN_ years trying to put Joker behind _ME.

"When did they molest you? What day of the year?"

"I dunno … It's all a blur to me."

Barbara cradled her chin in thought. "Maybe we can narrow it down," she said.

"How?"

"Dinah, did this incident take place before or after Christmas?"

Dinah sat in thought for a moment, trying to recall this long-buried memory. "After," she said after a long pause. "I remember the Christmas pageant at the Reverend Pitts's church."

"Did this incident take place before or after New Year's Day?"

"After."

"Did this incident take place before or after Valentine's Day?"

Dinah paused to think once more. "Before."

_We've narrowed it down some, _Barbara thought. _The incident took place between January 2nd and February 13th of that year._ "Did you go to school that day?"

"No."

"Were you home sick?"

"No."

"Were you on vacation? Was it a holiday or in-service day?"

"No," Dinah replied. "We didn't have in-service days where _I_ went to school. I guess the county thought they were a waste of time."

_Must've been a weekend, then, _Barbara concluded silently to herself. "Did you go to church that morning?"

"No."

"Do you normally go to church on Sundays?"

"My foster father was a Methodist minister. What do _YOU_ think?" said Dinah with an impish smile.

"May I take that as a 'yes'? " asked Barbara with a smile.

"Yes," replied Dinah with a laugh.

"Just covering all the bases," said Barbara. _Must have been a Saturday, _she thought. She made a few keystrokes on the notebook PC that was sitting upon her desk and called up a calendar program. She called up the January calendar of four years ago. "Based upon the evidence you've presented to me, I'm assuming that this incident happened on a Saturday. According to my calendar, there were four Saturdays during the January in question of four years ago," she said. "This is going to be a little tricky." Barbara drummed her fingers on her desk. "What was going on around you?"

"I don't understand," said Dinah, puzzled.

"Anything going on in the news? Any major sporting events in the area going on at the time? What was going on during the previous six days? If we can associate some major events that were going on around you at the time of the incident, we might be able to zero in on an exact date."

Dinah paused for a long time. "It was the Saturday before the Super Bowl," she said finally.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Dinah replied. "I remember Litchfield's Market running ads on TV telling people to stock up on beer and snacks for the big game."

"You remember the ads on TV at the time?"

"The Reverend never let me watch TV … he called it a 'gateway to demonic possession'."

Barbara grimaced and shook her head. _Some people… _she thought. "Please continue," she said.

"I could only watch TV when the Reverend wasn't around … which wasn't very often. As a result, I tend to remember what little TV I watched at the time."

"Speaking of the Reverend, was he married?"

"Yes."

"Where was his wife during all this?"

"She was visiting her mother in Joplin at the time."

Barbara made a few keystrokes on her PC and pulled a football schedule from four years ago off the Internet. "The Super Bowl was played on January 22nd of that year, she said. "That would make the Saturday before the game the 21st."

"I guess so…"

"Dinah, I need you to be certain."

"I know … it's evidence of a crime. I'm sorry … it was four years ago."

"Please … try."

"It was the Saturday before the Super Bowl … that's the best I can do," said Dinah as she shrugged her shoulders.

"You're certain?"

"Yeah."

"OK, we've got a date," said Barbara as she took note of the date on her legal pad. "Now we need a time."

"I didn't look at the clock. I couldn't tell you what time it happened."

"You may not need to."

"Huh?"

"You said that they woke you out of a sound sleep. What time did you go to bed that night? Did the Reverend have a set bedtime for you?"

"Yeah … Nine o' clock. That was lights out."

"Did you go to bed at nine?"

"Uh-huh."

"What time did you get up?"

"I usually got up around six. Had to be at school by eight forty-five."

_Nine hours, _Barbara thought. _Pretty large window, if you ask me. It's a start, I suppose._

"Prior to Darryl and the boys showing up, who all was in the house back then?"

"Just me and the Reverend."

"Where was the Reverend's bedroom in relation to yours?"

"Just across the hall from mine. We were directly facing each other."

"How wide was the hallway?"

"Three … four feet. Pretty much your standard hallway. Why?"

Barbara directed her thoughts at Dinah. _The Reverend might well have heard you being raped … and did nothing to stop it._ "I have a theory," she said finally. "It's only half-formed. I'd rather not get into it right now."

"Okay."

"Were the doors to the outside locked?"

"Uh-huh … Who _DOESN'T_ lock their doors nowadays?" Dinah replied, as if to state the obvious.

_You never know about these small towns, _Barbara thought. "Did Darryl and Earl have keys to the house?"

"No … I don't think so. They lived several miles away. _I_ never saw them let themselves in."

"So … did you go to bed at your regular time?"

"Uh-huh," Dinah replied. "Why are you asking about the doors?"

"I think it can safely be assumed that the Reverend was awake when Darryl, Earl, and the boys came over. After all, _SOMEONE _had to let them in," Barbara replied. "What happened when they entered your room? Did they appear drunk at all? Did you smell any alcohol on them?"

"No."

"What happened when they awakened you?"

"They shook me awake … Darryl told his two pals -- I don't know their names -- to hold my arms down."

"Describe the tone of voice he used … was he barking orders to them? Or was it more conversational?"

"Barking orders … definitely. 'GET HER ARMS DOWN!' … something like that." It was at this point that Dinah began to tremble.

"Dinah, what's wrong?" Barbara inquired. "You're trembling." She then wheeled out from behind her desk and took a place at Dinah's side, facing her.

"I keep thinking of the day after," said Dinah, her voice barely above a whisper. "I had to go to church the next day. I felt so dirty … so unclean … like I didn't belong there." She then glanced at Barbara. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Nothing," Barbara replied quietly. "You didn't do anything."

"Did I lead them on? Am I sending off some sort of signal?"

"You didn't do anything of the sort," Barbara replied. "You didn't lead them on … and you didn't send out any signals. Those men did what they did to you for their own sick and twisted reasons." She then paused for a moment. "I know what you're going through," she said.

"Do you?" Dinah shot back bitterly. "Have _YOU_ ever been raped?"

"Yes," Barbara said flatly.

"You're kidding…"

Barbara shook her head … No. "I don't enjoy talking about it," she said. "It … brings back a lot of bad memories. But if it will provide any comfort to you, I will." She then paused for a moment. "After Joker shot me … he raped me."

Dinah gasped and clasped her palm over her mouth in horror. "He raped me … took pictures of it … and sent them to my father," said Barbara as she continued on. "He tried to drive him insane."

"God," Dinah ejaculated. "Why?"

"Short answer … My father was the Police Commissioner of this city for many years," Barbara replied. "It goes without saying that he and Joker were mutual enemies." Barbara paused. "My father and Batman were very close. Ultimately, Joker was trying to break Batman. He tried to break him by attacking the three people he cared about the most: my father, Selina Kyle … and myself."

"God," said Dinah breathlessly. "Does Helena know?"

Barbara shook her head … No. "At first, I didn't tell her because she was young and had been through enough as it was. I didn't want to traumatize her any further. Now, I would tell her … but it's simply never come up. It doesn't exactly make for … pleasant conversation."

Dinah stood up and put her arms around Barbara … chair and all. "I'm so sorry," she said.

Barbara returned Dinah's hug. "It's not your fault," she said quietly into Dinah's ear. "I _DO_ know."

* * *

__

Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon

February 9th (Supplemental)

After seventeen years in this business, I thought I'd seen it all -- kids getting their heads bashed in with ball-peen hammers and tire irons, drug deals gone bad (along with the bullet-riddled bodies that usually followed), megalomaniacal dictators hell-bent on world domination … that sort of thing. Rev. Pitts (or Mr. Tucker … whoever he is today) takes the cake. Bad enough that this creep's idea of discipline is taking a piece of steel rebar to his (foster) daughter's shin (and breaking it in four places, according to Dinah's medical records). Now, I'm seeing that he thinks nothing of letting his brothers and two of their friends score a late-night quickie with the child (at gunpoint, of course).

It takes twelve pounds per square inch of force to break bone. Clearly, this man did not just punish her … he beat her to a pulp.

I guess it's true what they say: the worst monsters are always the respectable-looking ones.

* * *

__

Journal Entry -- Dinah Redmond

February 9th

I'm wondering if it's all worth it. Four people raped me that night -- and we've only identified two of them. If Barbara's got a plan to produce the other two, she hasn't told me.

I'm wondering if it's worth it. I'm wondering if it's worth dredging up four years worth of bad memories. I'm torn -- the superhero within me says, "Go on … they need to be brought to justice". Dinah Redmond -- the human being -- on the other hand, says, "Let it go. They're in Missouri (I think) and you're in New Gotham. They can't hurt you."

At the same time, it's nice to know that I'm not alone.


	4. Revelation

****

Chapter Four

* * *

_Journal Entry -- Dinah Redmond_

_February 11th_

_Am I going insane? Am I hearing what I think I'm hearing? Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing? If I'm wrong, then I'll have (1) wasted everyone's time and (2) confirmed Helena's suspicion that I'm a borderline nut._

_Barbara has told me that I have good instincts. They've saved Huntress's life twice so far -- but are they enough? All I've got to go on right now is gut instinct -- and it's screaming in my ear._

* * *

_Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon_

_February 11th_

_I've decided to remove Dinah from street duty for the duration of this investigation. At it stands, she's the only living witness to the Pitts brothers' activities. I fear that if the Pitts brothers see her, they may well attempt to _SILENCE _her … forever._

_I've run criminal background checks on both Darryl and Earl Pitts (Both of them identified with the assistance of Dinah). Darryl has priors for possession of a controlled substance (methamphetamine), rape, and possession of a controlled substance with intent to distribute (also methamphetamine). Darryl seems to have gotten off easy (substance abuse counseling and community service for the possession charge, sixty days lockup for the rape charge, and thirty days plus a year's probation for the possession with intent to distribute charge)._

_If you ask me, these are light sentences for serious crimes; Dinah may have been onto something about the Rev. Pitts having had pull in that town._

_Earl has priors for possession (methamphetamine) and domestic violence (Apparently he beat up his girlfriend while he was in a drunken stupor one night). He received substance abuse counseling and community service for the possession charge and anger management counseling for the domestic violence charge._

_Darryl in particular appears to merit further monitoring due to his (1) violent tendencies (He pulled a gun on and raped a 12-year-old girl) and (2) his prior arrest for possession of meth with intent to distribute (He is clearly _MUCH_ more than a casual user; we may be looking at a possible trafficking case here)._

_If the brothers _ARE _involved in drug trafficking, that might explain the guns and the gym bag stuffed with cash that Dinah found in the Reverend's basement._

_One thing puzzles me: What would drive a couple of convicted rapists (No, scratch that -- make that a convicted rapist and a batterer) to pedophilia? Power? Thrills? A desire for a new sensation? I shudder to think about what went through their minds that night._

* * *

"I'm sorry, Huntress … but I can't help you," said Reese. Reese was at his desk -- and filling out paperwork -- at Police Headquarters. Huntress was standing in the shadowy doorway. "I'm gonna need something more substantial than your sister's four-year-old testimony."

"One victim isn't enough?" Huntress shot back.

"I don't think you know who you're dealing with."

"Enlighten me."

"You're asking me to bring in the brother…"

"_Brothers_ … there's two of em."

"Brothers … of one of the most well-connected men in this city." Reese paused. "Roy Tucker is on a first-name basis with the Police Chief, the Police Commissioner, the Mayor, three-quarters of the City Council, _AND _the publisher of the _New Gotham Gazette_."

"So if you tried to bust them…"

"I could lose my job,_" _Reese said flatly.

_Gotta do what you gotta do, I guess,_ thought Huntress. "I understand."

"I don't like it, either," said Reese mournfully. "It's as if they're above the law."

" 'Above the law', eh?" said Huntress. "As it happens, busting people who are 'above the law' is our specialty," she said with a smirk.

"Uh, one more thing … while you're here."

"Yeah?"

"Ever heard of something called 'Switch'?"

"No … what is it?"

"Methamphetamine … _highly refined_ methamphetamine. Had four kids OD on the stuff in the last three weeks."

"I'll look out for it," said Huntress as Reese opened his top desk drawer, searching for a paper.

Finding the paper in question, Reese looked up from his desk drawer. "Huntress," he called -- his voice trailing off as he noticed the now-empty doorway. "Be careful," he said quietly.

* * *

"Reese can't help," said Huntress back at The Clocktower. "Tucker's connected. Guy's got friends in high places."

"Guess we're all alone on this one," replied Barbara mournfully as she sat at her PC in the Comm Center.

"You wanted to see me?" said Dinah as she entered the room and took a place behind Barbara at her PC.

"Umm … yes," Barbara replied as she made a keystroke on her PC. A photo of the red-haired and chiseled Roy Tucker appeared on the overhead plasma screen. "Do you recognize this man?"

"Yeah," Dinah replied. "That's Tucker."

Barbara made another keystroke on her PC. A photo of a gray-haired and slightly jowlier version of Tucker appeared to the left of the Tucker photo. "Do you recognize _THIS_ man?"

"That's Reverend Pitts."

"Think they're one and the same?" asked Huntress.

"We're about to find out," Barbara replied. "I'm going to run a biometric comparison of the two photos."

"Biowhatzits?"

Barbara turned around to face Dinah and Huntress. "Biometrics," Barbara replied in answer to Huntress's question. "There are certain bodily measurements that do not change as people grow older -- the distance between the pupils in one's eyes, the width of the bridge of the nose, the width of the nostrils, the distance between the cheekbones, et cetera." Barbara paused. "They're as individual as a fingerprint. Even identical twins exhibit some variances." She then turned back to her PC. "All right … let's go."

Dinah clenched her fists, squeezed her eyes shut, and mouthed a silent prayer. _Please let there be something to this, _she thought. _Don't let me be seeing things._

"Dinah, are you all right?" inquired Barbara as she noticed Dinah's pinched expression.

"Huh?" ejaculated Dinah, her eyes now wide open and her fists unclenched.

"You looked as if you were about to pass a bowling ball."

"Sorry," said Dinah with a sheepish grin. "Little nervous."

"About what?"

"I don't want you all to think I'm crazy," Dinah replied. "I'm just afraid that I might be seeing things."

"_YOU'RE_ crazy?" ejaculated Huntress with a laugh. "May I remind you that you're working for a woman who once spent ten years of her life patrolling the streets at night in a cape and _tights?_"

"That will be all, Huntress," Barbara replied dryly as she turned her attention back to her PC and made a few keystrokes. "Here we go." She tapped a final key. White reference markers appeared on each of the two men's faces. White lines snaked out towards the center of the overhead plasma screen. One by one, the lines touched and turned green, indicating a match. After a few minutes, a bright green ladder of connections appeared on the center of the screen.

"We have a match," said Barbara finally.

Dinah's jaw dropped. Her breath suddenly escaped from her body. _Tell me this is _NOT _happening, _she thought.

"Ho-ly shiiiiiiiiiit," was all Huntress had to say about the matter.

Barbara made a few more keystrokes. The photos of Rev. Pitts disappeared from the overhead plasma screen. A pair of driver's licenses -- with New Gotham addresses -- belonging to Darryl and Earl Pitts took their place.

For the first time, the team got a good look at Darryl and Earl. Both men appeared to be in their mid-to-late forties. Darryl (Full name: Darryl Thomas Pitts) had a wiry frame, an angular face, and receding long dark brown hair with a matching goatee. Earl (Full name: Earl Robert Pitts) was bald, heavyset, and had a thick neck and double chins.

Dinah was thunderstruck. _They're here._

Barbara finally broke the silence. "We've found three of the gang," she said. "Now … let's find the other two."


	5. Funny Business

****

Chapter Five

* * *

__

Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon

February 16th

_Dinah passed on an intriguing bit of information to me the other day. She told me that there was a rumor going around Blackwater Creek that the Pitts brothers were running a meth lab out in the woods somewhere. Considering that Darryl has a prior for possession of methamphetamine with intent to distribute, there might be more than a grain of truth to that story._

_I've been researching Greenlefe House's finances and corporate structure (This is in addition to its umbrella organization, the Greenlefe Foundation)._

_Where do I begin? The Greenlefe Foundation's Board of Directors is comprised of people who are not among the living (Mr. Tucker included). Mr. Tucker's namesake -- Roy Alan Tucker -- died at the age of 2 1/2 months. It seems that Mr. Tucker has gone to great lengths to hide his past, even going so far to assume the identity of an infant who died of a defective heart valve._

_As for the rest of the Board, they all lived to ripe old ages (60's, 70's, 80's … with one gentleman dying at the age of 103). I must give Mr. Tucker points for ingenuity. A Board of Directors stacked with corpses -- is there any better way to give the public the illusion of legitimacy while at the same time maintaining absolute control? (And make no mistake about it, as the only living person on the Board, the Rev. Pitts _IS _in a position of absolute control.)_

_The Foundation has two bank accounts attached to it: a regular commercial account … and a Swiss bank account. What need would a charitable foundation have for a Swiss bank account? Why all the secrecy?_

_In addition, the Swiss bank account is tied to a _SECOND_ company called Atavus. The Swiss bank account looks _VERY_ interesting; all cash deposits -- most of them north of twenty thousand dollars each. No checks or credit card charges … most curious._

_Both Atavus and the Foundation share the same Board of Directors. Roy Tucker/Rev. Pitts created both organizations. More and more, the Reverend appears to be a key player in this operation, if not the driving force behind it._

* * *

"So this Foundation has some funny finances, huh?" said Helena.

"They both appear to be shell corporations," replied Barbara. "My guess is that they're being used to launder drug money."

"Why a _children's home_, of all things?" asked Dinah.

"My guess is that it's intended as a distraction," Barbara replied. "Get the public's attention focused on Greenlefe House … and they won't bother looking into the funny business going on at Atavus." She then paused. "Furthermore, it's the last place anyone would expect to find a drug operation."

"Surely the media would've picked up on this by now…"

"I think _I _can answer that," said Helena. "Reese told me that Tucker's got the publisher of the _New Gotham Gazette_ in his pocket. I think it's safe to assume that goes for the rest of the media in this town too."

"I've been doing a little research on Switch," said Barbara. "Its emergence on the streets seems to coincide with the Pitts brothers' arrival in New Gotham. I'm wondering if there might be a connection."

"Think the brothers pulled up stakes and set up shop here?

"Could be. I can't see the leopard changing its spots," said Barbara. "Found something else." She paused. "I've been running a probe on Atavus. Lately, they've been ordering large amounts of acetone … by the fifty-five-gallon drum."

"What could they want with that much acetone?"

"Normally, it's an industrial solvent. It's also a key component in the making of meth."

"Think they're dealing Switch?"

"Could be. Wish I had a sample of the stuff for comparison."

"Consider it done," said Helena with a grin. "I'll get you a sample."

"No," said Barbara firmly. "The police do drug sweeps all the time. I don't want you getting caught up."

"I'm not gonna get caught up," Helena retorted. "First, I gotta talk to The Jamaican."

* * *

Stewart "Stuey" Randall Atkins a.k.a. "The Jamaican" was 43, a reformed petty thief and burglar, and one of The Huntress's street informants. He now ran a jerk shop called "Jamaican Me Crazy" in the Little Kingston district on New Gotham's Lower East Side (And if The Huntress is to be believed, the place was "one of the best in town").

The Huntress strode into the place -- in all her black-leather-clad glory -- and marched up to the cash register that was located in front of the kitchen service window, causing all the other customers in the shop to stop and stare.

"Hey, Stuey!" she called out. "Stuey, my man!"

Stuey peeked out from behind the service window. Tonight, a plastic hairnet covered his trademark dreadlocks. His frame was wiry, his face thin -- years of hard living having taken their toll. The Huntress smiled and gave a friendly wave in greeting.

"Ontress!" he called back with a smile. Huntress loved to hear his lilting island accent. Stuey was one of those people who could recite the telephone directory and make it sound good.

"Can we talk?"

"But of course," Stuey replied, gesturing for Huntress to come into the kitchen. "Come on back."

Huntress walked through the swinging kitchen doors that were located just to the right of the service window. The scents of the islands -- jerk spices, roasting fish, chicken, pork, and beef -- wafted through the air. The air in the kitchen was sticky, humid, and steamy. She found Stuey standing at a counter, slicing a piece of grilled chicken breast into strips.

"How's business?" asked Huntress with a grin.

"Oh, business is good … very good."

"Speaking of business, I was wondering if I could talk some with you?"

"But of course," said Stuey with a nod. "Bernard!" he called out with a snap of his fingers to a chubby assistant cook with a shaved head in the back. "Take over!"

* * *

Huntress and Stuey stood in the alley that was located behind the shop. The night was clear but chilly -- the air a marked change from the steaming kitchen from whence the two had just emerged.

"What can I do for you?" asked Stuey.

"Know anything about a drug called Switch?" asked Huntress.

"Oh, nasty stuff, Ontress. Nasty stuff," Stuey replied. "Nasty people dealing it too."

"Know anything about em?"

"No one knows," replied Stuey regretfully. "I do know this … they step over _LOT_ of bodies to get where they are today."

_Great,_ thought Huntress wryly to herself. "Know where I can get some?"

"I never knew you were into drugs, Ontress."

"It's not for me … it's for a friend of mine," Huntress replied. "It's not what you think. She wants a sample to analyze."

"Ah, I see," said Stuey. He then said in a low whisper, "Go to 9-1-1 Club in West 80's. Ask for Little Ricky. He set you up."

Huntress took a fifty-dollar bill out of her coat pocket, took one of Stuey's hands in her own, and placed the bill in the palm of his hand. "Thanks, man."

"Can I get you anything?" Stuey asked. "Coffee? A sandwich?"

"Not tonight," Huntress replied. "I'm on duty." With that, she ran down the alley and disappeared into the night.


	6. Little Ricky

****

Chapter Six

* * *

_Journal Entry -- Dinah Redmond_

_February 20th_

_I would be lying if I said I was happy being taken off street duty. Believe me, I'd like nothing better than to collar all five of those creeps personally._

_On the plus side, I _HAVE _gotten a chance to catch up on my studies. A little breather is always nice._

_Barbara has told me that Helena is angry enough for both of us. I just hope she leaves enough of the guys to prosecute._

* * *

A series of eight full-face mugshots (of men) were displayed (in two rows of four photos apiece) on the overhead plasma screen.

"Dinah, do you recognize any of these men?" asked Barbara.

Dinah stared at the photos, studying them. She then clasped her hand over her mouth and let out a gasp of recognition. _It's _HIM, she thought. _One of them, anyway. _"First row, first one on the left," she said.

Barbara moved the cursor over to the photo in question. "Him?" she asked Dinah.

Dinah nodded. "Yeah … him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Barbara clicked on the photo, made a few keystrokes, and saved the photo. "There's another page if you'd like to see it."

Dinah nodded. "Yeah … I'd like to see it."

Barbara made a keystroke. The eight mugshots on the screen disappeared and eight new ones took their place. "Do you recognize any of _THESE _men?"

Dinah studied the photos once more. "Second row, second one from the right."

"Are you sure?" asked Barbara. Dinah nodded in reply.

Barbara clicked on the photo, made a few keystrokes, and saved the second photo. She then made a few more keystrokes. The eight mugshots on the screen disappeared and were replaced by the two saved photos. Barbara clicked on the photo that was on the left side of the screen. His name, criminal record, and vital statistics appeared on the right of the photo.

The face that appeared in the mugshot was that of a muscular-looking male in his mid-to-late thirties with a pointed chin and slicked-back bright red hair. Barbara read off the person's record: "Name: Jeffrey 'Jeff' Alan Hicks. Priors: Rape, Possession of a Controlled Substance with Intent to Distribute (Methamphetamine), Driving While Intoxicated…"

At this point, Dinah could no longer contain herself. She flung her arms around Barbara, kissed her on the cheek, and gushed, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

Barbara -- with a puzzled expression on her face -- looked at Dinah. " 'Thank you'? For what?" Barbara asked.

"You have no idea what this means to me," Dinah replied with a wide grin.

"Care to enlighten me?"

"It's just that … after four years, I'm glad I can finally put names to a couple of faces that I've been seeing in my sleep for so long."

"Don't thank me yet, Dinah," said Barbara. "We still have one more to go." Barbara made a few more keystrokes. The picture of Jeffrey Hicks disappeared and was replaced by the second saved mugshot. The face that appeared on this mugshot was that of another muscular-looking male in his mid-to-late thirties. A mane of wavy blonde hair framed his head. He wore a matching goatee. Barbara read off the second man's record: "Name: Ronald 'Ronnie' Wayne Dixon. Priors: Rape, Possession of a Controlled Substance with Intent to Distribute (Methamphetamine)".

"Barbara, you're incredible!" Dinah gushed. "How did you find these people?"

"It wasn't all that difficult," Barbara replied calmly. "Most states … Missouri included … require convicted sex offenders -- rapists, child molesters, et cetera -- to register their domicile with the state." Barbara paused. "This is a list of all convicted sex offenders living within a 20-mile radius of Blackwater Creek, Missouri between January 1st and December 31st four years ago." Barbara made a few keystrokes. The mugshot disappeared from the screen and was replaced by a pair of driver's licenses -- each with New Gotham addresses -- for Hicks and Dixon.

"Just as I thought," said Barbara. "They followed the Pitts brothers to New Gotham."

"Something I've noticed," said Dinah. "Why haven't Darryl, Earl, Hicks, and Dixon changed _THEIR_ names?"

"My guess is that they didn't feel they needed to," Barbara replied. "They're nowhere near as high-profile as Tucker."

"Soo … what now?"

"Now," said Barbara with a small smile. "We enter the second phase of the operation."

* * *

"I _STILL_ do not approve of this," said Oracle over the comm as Huntress leaped over the rooftops of New Gotham.

"I know it's risky," Huntress replied. "But it's the best shot we have of tying the Pitts brothers to the source of Switch in the city."

"If you absolutely insist, I want you to do something for me."

"What?"

"Find out who their bagman is."

Huntress stopped. "Their _WHAT?_"

"Their bagman … who collects the money?" Oracle replied. "Cash is _MUCH_ too valuable to be entrusted to a strung-out sixteen-year-old dealer. It's been my experience that in operations such as these -- operations that are headed by a small core group at the top -- the bagman is going to be one of their top people … someone they trust. In our case, it might be one of the brothers or their close friends." Oracle paused. "Get the bagman ... and you interrupt their cash flow. Interrupt their cash flow…"

"And you've shut down their operation," said Huntress, finishing Oracle's sentence.

"Exactly."

"Will do," said Huntress. "Huntress out."

* * *

Red and shocking green laser lights played across the floor of the cavernous 9-1-1 Club (So named because it was located at 911 West 84th Street) to a house/techno soundtrack. Every so often, a fog of white smoke would cascade down from the ceiling and onto the dance floor.

Huntress walked up to the bar and asked for Little Ricky. The bartender gestured towards a young man in his early-to-mid twenties wearing a shiny blue suit and leaning against the wall. He was thin and had closely-cropped dark hair.

Huntress sauntered over to the man. "You Little Ricky?" she asked.

"Who wants to know?" came the reply.

"I heard you got stuff," said Huntress in a conspiratorial whisper. "Stuff I want."

"Yeah, I got stuff … lotsa stuff."

"I wanna see your stuff."

"You got fifty?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether your stuff is worth it."

"HEY!" Little Ricky protested. "Little Ricky does _NOT_ sell poor quality stuff!"

"How do I know Little Ricky isn't gonna screw me?" Huntress hissed. "How do I know Little Ricky isn't gonna take the money and run?"

Little Ricky threw down his arms in frustration. "All right," he said with a sigh. "Follow me."

* * *

Little Ricky led Huntress out to his car -- a late-model silver Acura -- that was parked in back of the club. He took a set of car keys out of the back pocket of his pants, opened the passenger side door, reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a tiny plastic Zip-Loc bag containing four transparent cubes of Switch, and shut the door.

"You wanted to see my st-…" Before he could finish his sentence, the Huntress delivered a kick to his stomach, knocking him against the side of the car and causing him to drop the car keys and the bag filled with Switch. With another motion she planted her the sole of her boot on Little Ricky's throat and pinned him against the car, choking him.

"Who's your bagman?" Huntress demanded. She released the pressure just long enough to let Little Ricky speak.

"My _WHAT_?" ejaculated Little Ricky as he gasped for air.

"Who collects the money?" Huntress pressed her foot down on Little Ricky's Adam's Apple.

"COWBOY BOB! COWBOY BOB!" squeaked Little Ricky as he gasped for air.

"Where can I find this 'Cowboy Bob'?"

" 'Rocking-J Bar' … West 67th Street."

"You better not be lyin' to me…" said Huntress ominously.

"I'M NOT! I SWEAR!"

Huntress took her foot off Little Ricky's throat, grabbed him by the back of his neck, and slammed him against a nearby streetlight. "Hug it," she demanded.

"What?"

"DO IT, ASSWIPE!" Huntress barked.

With that, Little Ricky frantically wrapped his arms around the streetlight. Huntress produced a pair of small plastic handcuffs out of the pocket of her coat and handcuffed Little Ricky to the streetlight. She then took a pair of leather gloves out of another of her coat pockets, put them on, and walked back towards the Acura.

"HEY!" screamed Little Ricky from the streetlight. "You're not gonna leave me like this, are ya'?"

Ignoring Little Ricky's cries for help, Huntress picked up the car keys and the bag of Switch that were lying next to the car. She put the bag of Switch in a coat pocket, opened the car door, and opened the glove compartment. Stuffed inside were a large plastic Zip-Loc bag filled with smaller bags containing Switch and another large plastic Zip-Loc bag containing a wad of money.

"Huntress to Oracle, come in," she said into the comm.

"Huntress, this is Oracle. Over," came the reply.

"Contact Reese. Tell him I found a guy dealing Switch at the 9-1-1 Club on West 84th Street. I've got him handcuffed to a streetlight at the back of the club. Goes by the name Little Ricky." Huntress paused. "He's operating out of a silver late-model Acura. He's got drugs and a wad of cash stuffed in the glove compartment." Huntress closed the glove compartment, shut the door, walked around towards the back of the car, and read off the license plate: "License plate number Kevin-Delta-Charlie-Two-Four-Robert."

"Roger that."

"You a cop?" shouted Little Ricky to Huntress from the streetlight.

Huntress walked back over to Little Ricky. "I'm worse than the cops," she replied, placing Little Ricky's car keys into the pocket of his jacket. "I'm the Huntress…" She then leaned over, grinned, and said into his ear, "…And you're my prey." With that, she ran down the street and disappeared into the night.


	7. Cowboy Bob

****

Chapter Seven

* * *

_Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon_

_February 23rd_

_I ran a chemical analysis of the Switch … sample … Huntress picked off Little Ricky. It matches the post-mortem toxicology profiles of the last four OD cases; it would seem that we have our Switch._

_Huntress reminds me a great deal of Batgirl in _HER_ prime -- bold, daring, devil-take-the-hindmost. Not one for following rules and regulations. A maverick. Even though I've told her time and time again that I have no meta-human abilities whatsoever, Huntress swears that I can read her mind. I know how she thinks for the simple reason that I used to _BE _her -- Batgirl in her day was every bit the ass-kicking, devil-may-care hell-raiser that The Huntress is now._

_Every day, I pray that The Huntress -- well, both of my girls actually -- aren't killed or put in a wheelchair … like Batgirl._

* * *

The Rocking-J Bar was one of the few -- if not the _ONLY_ -- country-western bars in New Gotham. There were crushed peanut shells on the floor, hardwood paneling on the walls, and Garth Brooks was playing on the jukebox.

All of the cowboys/cowgirls in the bar -- clad in blue jeans, cowboy hats, boots, and Western shirts -- stopped and stared as The Huntress walked in wearing her trademark black leather. Tonight, she wore a pair of black sunglasses with a tiny video camera mounted in the bridge.

"Oracle, do you copy?" asked Huntress, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Loud and clear, Huntress," came the reply over the comm.

"Dinah, you back there?"

"Right here," replied Dinah at the other end of the comm.

"Good," said Huntress. "If this creep's Family, I'm gonna need _YOU_ to identify him."

"Ready when you are, Huntress."

"All right, let's go." With that, Huntress walked over to the bar and asked to see Cowboy Bob. The bartender gestured towards a stocky man with double chins sitting near a pool table at the back of the bar. He wore boots, blue jeans, a navy blue silk western shirt, and a white felt Stetson cowboy hat.

"Dinah, you recognize him?" asked Huntress, her voice barely above a whisper. The jukebox had now switched from Garth Brooks to Alan Jackson.

"It's Earl … one of the brothers," came the reply over the comm.

"You sure?"

"I'd know that fat face anywhere!" Dinah ejaculated.

"Oracle, you want me to move in?" asked Huntress.

"No," said Oracle over the comm. "Just get out of there."

"You sure?"

"I know where he lives."

* * *

" 'Cowboy Bob?' " asked Dinah incredulously back at the Clocktower. "Where did _THAT_ come from?"

"His full name is Earl Robert Pitts," replied Oracle. "Hence … 'Cowboy Bob'."

* * *

Earl Pitts unlocked the front door of his modestly furnished apartment and went inside. It was truly a "guy's" apartment -- the furnishings were cheap and non-descript. He put his car keys on the kitchen counter, went into his bedroom, and turned on the light.

He took off his starched-white Stetson and hung it on a wooden coat tree that stood in the corner next to his bed. He stood with his back to the door, took off his shirt, unbuckled his belt, and dropped his pants -- revealing a white cotton undershirt and a pair of baby-blue silk boxer shorts.

"Nice shorts!" said a voice -- The Huntress's.

Earl quickly pulled up his pants and turned around, searching for the voice. The Huntress -- in all her black-leather-clad glory -- stood directly opposite Earl in a far corner of the room, her arms folded across her chest.

"Who are you?" Earl drawled. "The hell you want?"

"I've come for you, Earl," Huntress replied.

"What'd _I_ do?" Earl whined.

"STOW IT, PORKY!" Huntress snapped, not missing an opportunity to attack Earl's portly physique. "I know about Dinah Lance."

"Who?"

"Don't lie to me," Huntress shot back. "_YOU_ know who I'm talking about."

"_WHO_?_!"_

Huntress sighed and rolled her eyes. "Do I have to spell it out for you?" she said, exasperated. "You, Darryl, Jeff, Ronnie, Dinah Lance … the Reverend's House … four years ago … the Saturday before the Super Bowl…"

"The hell you talkin' bout?"

"Where was the Reverend in all this?"

"He wasn't home!"

"So you _WERE_ there that night!"

"Mebbe I was … mebbe I wasn't."

Huntress uncrossed her arms and walked over to Earl, closing the gap that stood between them. "How could you know he wasn't home … unless _YOU_ were at the house?"

"He went to Joplin with his wife, K?!" ejaculated Earl, exasperated.

"That's not what the victim says," Huntress shot back. "She said the Reverend's wife went to Joplin alone. Now … who let you in?"

"Huh?"

"I'm gonna say it one more time … _REAL_ slowly … so your puny brain can understand me," taunted Huntress. "Where … was … the Reverend … that night?"

"He wasn't home!" A look of fear flashed in Earl's eyes.

"You're lying," Huntress shot back. "The front door was locked. Dinah was asleep … and neither you, Darryl, nor your pals Beavis and Butthead had keys to the house. Who let you in?"

"Where you gettin' all this?"

The Huntress re-crossed her arms and said with a smug grin, "The Oracle knows."

"Who?"

"The Oracle knows … and that's all _YOU_ need to know."

Earl made a sudden run for the door. Huntress blocked his path, causing him to plow right into her.

"Going someplace?" said Huntress with a grin. "Now … where was the Reverend that night?"

"All right," said Earl, confessing. "He _WAS_ there."

"What happened after he let you in?"

"Dunno," said Earl. "Talked … then he went to bed."

"Did he leave you first? Or did he walk with you to Dinah's room?"

"He walked with us to Dinah's room. Jus' as we was goin' in, he went to his bedroom, told us he was goin' to bed, turned out the light … and that was that."

" 'He went to bed'," mocked Huntress. "His daughter was being raped at gunpoint not more than ten feet away from him … and _HE WENT TO BED!_"

_Oh, Lawd, _thought Earl. _She knows. I dunno _HOW _she knows … but she knows! _"The hell does it matter?" he shot back. "It was four years ago … _IN MISSOURI!_"

"It matters to _ME_," Huntress replied quietly. "It matters to The Oracle … and it matters to the victim."

"I think you'd better leave," said Earl menacingly. With that, he threw a punch at Huntress, missing widely. Huntress responded by kneeing Earl in the groin. With all the meta-human strength she could muster, she then landed a right jab/uppercut combination to his jaw that sent him to the floor, unconscious.

_One down, four to go, _Huntress thought. "Huntress to Oracle, come in," she said into the comm.

"Oracle here. Over," came the reply over the comm.

"Call Reese," said Huntress. "Tell him I've got a child molester."


	8. The Wild One

****

Chapter Eight

* * *

"I've got a _BAD_ feeling about this," said Oracle over the comm.

"What could go wrong?" Huntress replied. She was lying in wait inside Darryl Pitts's darkened bedroom. "It worked before."

"Darryl Pitts has shown himself to be a violent, dangerous, and deranged individual," said Oracle. "We're talking about a man who thinks nothing of pulling a .45 on a twelve-year-old girl … and then raping her." Oracle paused. "There's the very real possibility that he could be armed."

"I'm not afraid of guns."

"I _REALLY_ wish you'd leave yourself an escape route, at least," Oracle pleaded over the comm. "I don't like seeing you boxed in like this."

Off in the distance, a door opened and closed. "He's here," said Huntress, her voice barely above a whisper. "Gotta run."

* * *

Darryl Pitts unlocked the front door of his modestly furnished apartment and went inside. Like his brother Earl's place, it was a "guy's" apartment -- the furnishings were cheap and non-descript. He put his car keys on the coffee table in his living room, went into his bedroom, and turned on the light.

He stood with his back to the door and unbuttoned his shirt.

"Hi, guy!" said a voice -- Huntress's -- behind him.

Darryl spun around, reached behind his back, pulled a 9mm that was tucked in the back of his pants out from behind him, and aimed it at Huntress.

"Who the hell are you?" Darryl drawled. "Hell you doin' in my house?"

"HEY!" exclaimed Huntress. "Put the piece down…" Darryl replied by firing twice.

"Huntress, what's going on?" said Oracle over the comm. "I'm hearing gunshots in the background."

"I'M UNDER FIRE!" Huntress shouted back. With a burst of meta-human strength, she leaped over the corner of the bed -- with Darryl blasting away all the while.

"HUNTRESS, GET OUT OF THERE!" screamed Oracle over the comm. "The collar's not worth your life!" Oracle paused. "GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!"

"I've got some business to take of first." Endorphin rush kicking in, she leaped and delivered a flying kick to Darryl's jaw, sending him against the wall and causing him to crumple in a heap onto the floor. With Darryl sufficiently dazed, she stepped on his shooting wrist, grabbed the gun out of his hand, and threw it away.

"Huntress, are you all right? _HUNTRESS!_"

Darryl got to his feet, bracing his back against the corner of the wall. "The hell are you?" he exclaimed.

"Dinah Lance's avenging angel," Huntress replied.

"_WHO?!_"

"You know who I'm talking about," Huntress said quietly.

Darryl charged Huntress. In response, Huntress kicked him in the stomach and then followed up with a right to his jaw, stunning him and sending him to the floor again.

"Huntress, what's your situation?" inquired Oracle over the comm.

"He looks a little dazed right about now," Huntress replied.

"Huntress, get out of there _NOW!_" screamed Oracle over the comm.

"Will do," Huntress replied. "Extracting now." With that, she turned and limped out of the bedroom.

* * *

An exhausted Huntress staggered through the alley that was located eight blocks from Darryl's apartment. It took every ounce of meta-human strength she had remaining after the fight with Darryl to carry her to this point. The endorphin high now wearing off, the euphoria was being replaced with a throbbing ache in her leg.

"Huntress, are you all right?" asked Oracle over the comm.

Huntress grabbed her leg and felt something warm and wet against her hand. She then jerked her hand away and looked at it -- blood … _HER_ blood. "No," she replied, breathing hard. "I've been shot."

"Huntress, take cover," Oracle replied. "I'm sending out Dinah."

* * *

Dinah lay face-down on her bed in her quarters at the Clocktower, doing her math homework and listening to Huntress and Oracle on the scanner that was on the nightstand next to her bed (More accurately, it was a combination alarm clock-radio/scanner/intercom system. A small red emergency light rested on top of the unit).

She clasped her hand over her mouth in horror as she listened to the scene that was transpiring over the scanner. _I really _SHOULD_ get out there,_ she thought. _But how do I do it without pissing off Oracle? Should I ask to be recalled to duty?_

The flashing red emergency light and the wail of its accompanying siren intruded upon her thoughts. Dinah pressed the intercom button on the console, shutting down the light and siren.

"Dinah, here."

"Dinah, it's Oracle," came the reply over the intercom. "I'm temporarily reactivating you." Oracle paused. "Huntress is hurt … badly. She's been shot."

"I know … I was listening to her on the scanner."

"She needs help. I need you to get out there."

_Guess that answers _MY _question, _Dinah thought. "On my way."

* * *

An exhausted Huntress sat down to rest beside a Dumpster. _Guess this is where I die, _she thought as she closed her eyes.

After what seemed like only a moment, she was awakened by the sound of someone -- Dinah -- calling her name and gently slapping her face.

"Huntress … Huntress…"

Huntress opened her eyes to find herself staring in the face of Dinah. "Dinah…" Huntress said weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dinah draped one of The Huntress's arms around her shoulders and helped her to her feet. "C'mon," Dinah said quietly. "Let's get you home."

* * *

Helena was lying in a bunk at the Clocktower, sleeping off the pain medication Barbara had given her earlier for her injuries. Dinah and Barbara each maintained a silent vigil on either side of her (Dinah to Helena's right, Barbara to Helena's left).

"How is she?" Dinah asked Barbara.

"She was lucky to make it out alive," Barbara replied solemnly. "She took two shots … grazed her … both in the leg." Barbara sighed. "Thank God neither of them hit an artery."

Helena moaned, stirred, opened her eyes, and sat up in bed.

"Where am I?" asked Helena as she glanced around the room.

"Clocktower," Barbara replied.

"Just lie still," said Dinah to Helena. She put a hand on Helena's shoulder and gently eased her back down onto the bed.

"You took two shots … both in the leg," said Barbara to Helena. "You were lucky … they just grazed you."

Helena let out a sigh. "Guess I dodged a bullet, huh?" she said.

"Not very well, I'm afraid," Barbara said dryly.

"OK," said Helena. "We've got a crazy preacher and a bunch of child molesting good ol' boys running a meth lab," she said, changing the subject. "Anyone else hear dueling banjos?"

Dinah couldn't help but burst into laughter over that one. Tension broken.

"I'm serious!" exclaimed Helena. "This is something outta _Deliverance_!"

"I've got good news and bad news," said Barbara after the laughter had died down.

"What's the good news?" inquired Helena.

"Good news is that Earl Pitts has pled guilty to the child molestation charge. He's going to be extradited back to Missouri to face charges on that. Also, Little Ricky has agreed to a plea bargain agreement. He's agreed to finger Earl as the bagman for the drug ring in exchange for a reduced sentence."

"And the bad news…?"

"We've lost three of our perps," said Barbara.

"_THREE?!_"

Barbara nodded. "One's escaped … two are dead," she replied flatly. "I received a notice … well, a couple of notices actually … on Delphi a few hours ago." Barbara paused. "At 10:43 this evening, a man was seen knocking on the front door of the home of one Ronald 'Ronnie' Wayne Dixon. Mr. Dixon allegedly let the man into the house. A few minutes later, a witness testified to hearing two gunshots coming from the house. The man left the house shortly after that. Police found Mr. Dixon dead on the floor of his living room, shot twice execution-style … right through the forehead. A witness recorded the license plate on the suspect's car. It was traced back to Mr. Darryl Pitts."

"There goes Ronnie…" said Helena bitterly.

"At 11:20 this evening, Darryl was seen knocking on the front door of one Jeffrey 'Jeff' Alan Hicks. The M.O. was the same as in the Dixon case: Mr. Hicks let Mr. Pitts inside the house. This time, though, _FOUR_ shots were fired. Police later found Mr. Hicks and his apparent girlfriend -- one Brenda Louise Johnson, aged thirty-four -- dead on the living room floor, each shot execution-style … two shots to the forehead."

"…And there goes Jeff," said Helena with a sigh.

"What would drive him to shoot his two best friends?" Dinah asked.

"I don't know … paranoia?" Barbara replied. "Maybe he was afraid that one of them squealed. He probably shot Ms. Johnson so as not to leave a witness to the murder of Mr. Hicks." Barbara paused. "Mr. Pitts has not been seen or heard from since," she continued. "He's believed to have skipped town."

"_DAMMIT!_" Helena ejaculated. A look of fury suddenly flashed across her face. "I want Darryl," she said ominously. "I want his ass. Bad enough he went after Dinah." Helena paused. "_THIS_ time … it's _PERSONAL_."

"We're doing everything we can," said Barbara. "New Gotham PD's got an APB on him … State Police has an APB on him … Hell, even _I'VE_ got an APB on him."

"_YOU'VE_ got an APB on him?" exclaimed Dinah. "You can do that?"

"When The Oracle sends out an APB, every superhero -- from here … to Bludhaven … and all points beyond -- is on the lookout," Barbara replied. "He's _NOT_ gonna get away." She then turned to Helena. "I want him as badly as you do," she said. "He hurts you … he hurts _ME_."

"You don't have to do this for me," said Helena. "I don't want any favors."

"I think his record justifies it," Barbara replied. "He's a major drug dealer here in New Gotham. He's killed three people. He pulled a gun a twelve-year-old girl and raped her. He's clearly displayed no regard for human life whatsoever. The sooner we get him off the street, the better."

"OK … Ronnie and Jeff are both dead. Earl's in custody. Darryl's on the run. Now … what about the Rev?"

"Leave him to _ME_," said Barbara.


	9. The Crucible

****

Chapter Nine

* * *

The Rev. Larry Pitts (alias Roy Tucker) was jolted awake by the ringing cordless telephone that was on the nightstand next to his bed. He turned on the desk lamp that was sitting on top of the nightstand and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" he mumbled drowsily.

:Hello, Reverend Pitts: said the demonic electronically-scrambled voice at the other end of the line.

"Who is this?" the Reverend snapped. "This is an unlisted number!"

:My name is not important: came the reply. :However, for our purposes at this time, you may call me The Oracle:

"I think you've got the wrong number," said Rev. Pitts with a drawl. "There's no Reverend Pitts here!"

:I know about you … I know about your past … and I know about Dinah Lance:

"What're ya' talkin' bout?"

:How does it feel, Reverend? How does it feel to be awakened in the middle of the night by a menacing stranger?:

"Who's Dinah Lance?"

:CUT THE BULLSHIT, REVEREND!: ejaculated Oracle, angry now. :You mean to tell me you don't remember your own _DAUGHTER!_?:

"She wasn't my daughter!"

:Yeah, yeah … she was your "foster" daughter: taunted Oracle. :Spare me the legalistic bullcrap, pal:

"I'm tracin' this call," said the Reverend, panicking now. He frantically pressed a series of buttons on the receiver.

:Go ahead … it cannot be done:

"You're going to jail!"

:The technology the phone company possesses is primitive compared to that which _I_ can command: Oracle shot back.

"I have friends in high places!"

:Not even _THEY_ will be able to save _YOU_ … from _ME_: Oracle paused. :Why did you do it?:

"Do what?"

:You're up to your eyeballs in your brother's drug operation: Oracle replied. :Money? Thrills?: Oracle paused. :I know about the black gym bag and the guns Dinah Lance found… :

Rev. Pitts hung up the phone, cutting Oracle off. _How does he … she … it … _KNOW? he thought. _I've never told a living soul about what happened to Dinah … or what was in that basement._ The defiant phone rung once more. _If I pick up the phone, I'll have to deal with … _THAT _… again. _Rev. Pitts let the phone ring ten more times before picking it up again.

"HELLO!" screamed the panicked Reverend into the receiver.

:_THAT_ … was _EXTREMELY_ rude, Reverend: said Oracle on the other end of the line.

"So's callin' a total stranger at two in the morning!"

All of a sudden, the overhead lights in the bedroom began flickering on and off by themselves. "The hell's goin' on?!" the Reverend interjected.

:_THAT, _dear Reverend … is _ME_: came the reply from the other end of the line. :I have the power to make your life a living Hell: Oracle paused. :I can control the water, the electricity … all the creature comforts that you take for granted:

The Reverend hung up the phone, cutting Oracle off once more. Once more, the phone rang again. _I'm not goin' to jail, _the Reverend thought. He opened a dresser drawer, took out a .38 revolver, put it to his temple, fired, and collapsed onto the floor -- dead. The phone continued to ring all the while.


	10. Epilogue

****

Chapter Ten

* * *

__

Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon

March 4th

I hate suicides. To me, it's a coward's way out.

The Pitts gang body count thus far: three corpses, one arrest, and one fugitive. If nothing else, I take comfort in the fact that Earl Pitts, Ronnie Dixon, Jeff Hicks, and the Reverend Pitts will not be able to harm anyone ever again.

According to a notice that I received on Delphi, the police raided a warehouse in the Garment District (a warehouse leased by Atavus). They found guns, 500,000 in cash, and about 2-million worth of Switch. A nice haul, if you ask me. It's said to be one of the largest drug busts in the city's history.

There has to be a special place in Hell for men of The Cloth who do what the Rev. Pitts did. If ever there was a man who had no business being a minister, he was it.

I feel sorry for the kids at Greenlefe House. I'm sorry that they had to be mixed up in this. Talk about the suffering of the innocents.

* * *

"I'm sorry I wasted everyone's time," said Dinah.

"I'd hardly call bringing down a drug ring a waste of time," Barbara replied. "If nothing else, we've accomplished _THAT_."

"It … irks me … that we were only able to get one person in custody," said Dinah.

"We'll get Darryl," said Barbara. "Sooner or later, we'll get him … there's no place to hide."

"I just can't help thinking that Jeff, Ronnie, and the Reverend are … getting off somehow."

"If it's any comfort to you," said Barbara. "Jeff, Ronnie, and the Reverend will now have to face what can only be described as … Final Justice."

THE END


End file.
